Last Lullaby
by Ardent Aspen
Summary: How far would you go to save someone you loved? What price would you pay to protect your family? Your mind? Your soul? (I've taken the "out of left field" arc from "Mirrors" and finally organized it into a cohesive group! There's a little bit of new content here and there, but the plot is the same.)
1. Chapter 1

**Hello, everyone!**

**So, this story isn't going to be new to anyone who's read "Mirrors", as it's one of the smaller story arcs held within it. Still, I promised that at some point I would organize it and publish it seperately, and so here it is. I've just been calling it "The Out-of-left-field Arc" up until now, and I'm not sure about a title, so I'll just go with the first chapter's title.**

_Cybertron, many years before the War_

"What are you doing here?!" the old mech hissed, "If you are caught, you will be killed!"

The younger Cybertronian pushed his way into the humble building. "I know what you are now, _who_ you really are. If you ever cared about me then _please_, help me! She was a Senator, I am a _slave_! It was not meant to happen!"

Alpha Trion nodded pointedly at the form in the other's arms. "And yet it did. What is it you would ask of me?"

The wretched mech shook his helm. "You have to erase my memories of his name, his whereabouts, all of it."

Alpha Trion recoiled. "Meddle in the processor of a sentient being? How can you ask me to do such a thing?"

He was cut off as a sparkling was pushed into his servos.

"My overseers will parse my memory banks when they catch me—and they _will _catch me." the younger being was on the verge of tears. "If they discover an inter-caste sparkling, they will tear him apart before my very eyes."

Bright blue optics filled with coolant, and he knelt before the old scribe. "Please...I am his _sire_! I have to _protect _him! This...this is the only way I know."

Alpha Trion was filled with compassion for the young slave. This was the most spark-wrenching sacrifice he'd seen made in this small, mean corner of the world in eons.

. "I...shall do as you have requested," he said sadly, "Bid farewell to the child. I will put a barrier on the bond between your sparks, and remove your memories. You will not know him to be yours when I have finished."

The runaway's servos shook as he took the sparkling again. "Forgive me, little one," he whispered, "This is the only way. Grow in peace, live in freedom, but never forget who you are, my son. Never forget your Carrier, nor the usurper Prime who demanded her death merely because she bore you."

For an instant, the cerulean optics became chips of ice, trapped in a dark memory. Then they softened again. "You are descended from Primes, sparkling mine, and you deserve _so much better _than I can give." A coolant tear splashed onto the sleeping infant's faceplates, and he opened his round optics with a sleepy trill.

The fugitive smiled brokenly and trailed a servo across delicate cheeks. "I want you to remember me this way," his attempt at sternness dropped as the deep voice cracked. "No matter _what _happens, no matter what I _become_. Remember me, my son, and try to remember Tarn." Scarred lips brushed over the tiny, perfect helm in one last gesture of paternal adoration. "I love you, Orion."

The slave's mighty frame bowed in sorrow as he handed the sparkling to the scribe. "Do it," he said tiredly. Alpha Trion nodded and placed a hand on the dusty helm. Lights, dancing across a spectrum almost invisible to the Cybertronian optic, flowed from the ancient servos to the unresisting being beneath them.

As a sleeper code began to bury itself into instinctive subroutines, the ancient Prime murmured, "One day, you shall remember again. I cannot tell you when, nor how, but I have foreseen that it shall come to pass upon another world, far from this one. Know this, my friend, and endure." Work completed, he removed his hand and stepped back, cradling the newly orphaned child to his chestplates.

Confusion flooded the slave's faceplates and he melted into the shadows. What was he doing at his old mentor's home? The slave-drivers would be out in force to bring him in, valuable merchandise that he was, and he could not afford to stop in any one place for too long.

Somehow, he thought he recognized the little one in Trion's arms, but it could not be: he had never told the old mech their secret, and even if he had, why would an Iacon scribe have the child? He could not remember the circumstances of his escape, nor why he had lived and _she _had not. He only knew that somewhere he had a son that he would never see again.

He did not suppress the sorrow that weighed down his spark, nor the rage that slowly built under his armor and threatened to spill out upon the first provocation. They finally cornered him near Kolkular, and he was disgusted to see upper caste mechs and femmes turn their helms away as he was beaten down, electrocuted, and herded back to the hellish pens beneath the city.

The overseers were _not _pleased with his bold—if brief—bid for freedom, and made liberal use of the whip in an attempt to remind him of his status. He took it all silently, and all the while the tiny, optimistic voice he had once held within him began to slowly wither away.

An energon prod was jammed into a gap in his armor beneath the left arm and he dropped to his knees, gasping. All the rage, all the grief, all the betrayal roared in his processor like a focusing laser and he gave up freedom as an impossible dream. And what becomes of a dream deferred? _It explodes._ Waiting until his pain sensors had either stopped working or grown accustomed to the burn of the prod, the slave looked up at the driver.

"And where did you think you were going, scrapheap? To Iacon, where the slaves are free and the streets are paved with gold?" the squat mech mocked him. A vicious kick knocked the victim's helm back and to the right, leaving long scratches at the mouth.

Dangerous optics met the overseer's own. "Do not touch me again," a low voice threatened.

The gangster was outraged at this blatant disregard for the accepted hierarchy. "Are you—you gotta be kidding me—are you _actually _threatening me? You're serious, aren't you?" he spat several vile oaths at the one he had been beating and raised up a hand. "Worthless waste of energon! Just who do you think you are?"

The warrior wiped energon from the corner of his mouth and chuckled darkly. "Who do I think I am?" he repeated in a half-musing tone. The temperature in the caverns seemed to drop as he slowly stood. "I am a gladiator."

The rising intensity of his words drew the attention of other captives as he advanced on the slave-driver. "I am senior in the ranks of the warriors of the Kaon arena. Sparkmate to a murdered femme, sire to a stolen sparkling."

The energon prod was snapped in half and flung away, and keen servos buried themselves in the overseer's spark as the warrior hissed,

"_I Am Megatron!_"


	2. Chapter 2

**As before, the plot remains unchanged, but I have extended some paragraphs here and there and added one or two new details.**

* * *

It was truly remarkable, in a way, just how much Optimus Prime managed to survive.

Megatron sat on a pile of rubble that had once been Outpost Omega, stating thoughtfully down at the fractured, sparking frame of his greatest enemy, trapped beneath fallen beams and boulders.

"You're probably the only being alive who's been through nearly as much as I have, you know," the warlord mused aloud.

Optimus couldn't hear him, of course. His systems were far too focused on keeping him from succumbing to the grievous wounds.

"No matter what I throw at you, somehow or other you end up on your feet again, ready for battle. You are, without doubt, one of the luckiest mechs I've ever known." A humorless snort. "I almost admire you for that."

Rolling his shoulders, the champion of Kaon equipped his sword and raised his arm high, intending to snuff out the Prime's spark once and for all. Inches from the damaged chestplates, the blade halted. Megatron stood frozen, transfixed by the pale blue optics that weakly flickered to life. Unfocused, unaware, but in the darkness they took a hauntingly familiar shape.

"_Pax Domina,_" he gasped, and forever after, Megatron was never quite certain whether or not he'd actually spoken the fateful name out loud.

The resemblance was uncanny, now that he actually stopped to think about it. How odd that he should have spent centuries fighting a mech and never have properly looked at him. The optics had the same gentle tilt at the corners as hers, they possessed the same tendency to prefer reasoning to fighting, the same desire to comfort, no matter who it was they were comforting.

Curious, the Decepticon took the hand reaching futilely from the wreckage and examined it. Broad, flat servos...not the kind a Cybertronian of his caste ought to have had.

Being an archivist, Orion Pax should have had long, slim servos to aid in speed of typing, not the hands of a warrior. Megatron released the limb with a disgusted noise. What did he care? Similarities to the lost one were inevitable. They were both descendants of Prima, after all. And yet... He leaned down and stared at the disfigured faceplate.

"I always forget how nauseatingly _young _you truly are," he growled.

He stood and began to walk a slow, measured circle around the helpless Autobot. "Did you know I had a son?" he began, then stopped and shook his helm. "Primus, what an awful word: _had_."

He returned to his circuit, arms crossed behind his back. "He would be about your age now, provided he still lives—which my spark tells me is more than just _possibility_. They took him from me, of course, and murdered his Carrier on the orders of Sentinel Prime. And why? Because we were breaking caste."

His optics glowed with an old, old hatred and silver talons clenched.

"She was a senator, my sparkmate, of the line of Prima. Just like you, Optimus. I was barely even a gladiator then. I was a _slave_, the lowest of the low. She broke into a coliseum to bring a wounded femme energon. A few other desperate inmates rushed her and I ended up saving her life." He sounded very proud of the fact, and a smirk touched his scarred lips.

"She _loved_ me, the poor little wretch. Worse, _I_ loved _her_, and Sentinel could never bear the fact that Pax Domina chose _me_ over _him_."

Even now he gloated over those long dead, and a low chuckle rumbled into the still air. Then his face hardened and his scarlet gaze grew cold. "Your precious Senate cut out her spark in the streets for carrying my son, and the unfortunate little creature was stolen by Alpha Trion—yes! Your _beloved mentor_!"

"The old deceiver often snatched away the children of the slaves, probably to a life more miserable than ever I knew." He shook his helm in disgust. "Poor, naive Optimus," he mocked.

"I once counted him a friend, much as you did. But then I learned who he really was; _what _he really was. I realized that Domina's hope that he would protect our sparkling was vain at best, and that my miserable one would never know freedom. And I dreamt of vengeance, and I began a revolution."

For a moment, Megatron hesitated, as if unsure he ought to continue. He looked back down at the pinned Autobot and shook his helm, a bitter smirk playing across his faceplates. It wasn't as if his enemy were online to hear him. Not even Soundwave was monitoring this. No, he would keep going. Even warlords needed a catharsis every now and again.

"When first you came to me, I saw the mech my sparkling could have been. Maybe that's why I grew to hate you so much, Optimus. Everything _he _should have had, should have done, I watched it all fall to _you_. It's as if you stole the life that-" he stopped, confused. "I can't... remember... I can't remember my own son's name. Oh Primus, is _this _what I've been reduced to?"

With a bitter chuckle, Megatron sank down onto the debris beside his fallen foe. Almost before he realized what he was doing, he'd cleared some of the rocks from around Optimus's helm. Quickly, he drew back his hand and scowled.

"Enough! Why do you torment me with her optics? Orion Pax, the mech who would be Prime-" Megatron stopped mid-sentence. "_Pax_?" he repeated in disbelief.

Again his servos drifted towards the dented cobalt helm, only to be snatched back at the last moment. "_Impossible_! Could it really be that simple?" the warlord murmured.

He stood and looked down at the Autobot leader. "I will make you a deal, Optimus Prime," he rasped, "I will stay here and observe you this night. If at any point you should begin to relinquish your spark, out of respect for the friendship we once had, I will ease your passing and see to it that your remains are treated with respect."

He paused and crouched again. "If, however, you live to see the sunrise, I will take it as a sign and you will accompany me back to the citadel. You will be repaired, and you will be questioned—though not, perhaps, on the subject you might have guessed."

The massive warrior settled in to wait, optics falling on the handle of the Forge of Solus Prime. Well, if he tired of waiting he could use that and take the Autobot back to Darkmount for questioning anyway. For now, however, he would be patient. The watches of the night wore on and Megatron struggled within his spark with a tiny, unquenchable hope that Optimus would live. _For Domina, for the life you failed to save,_the stars whispered to him.

He shut his optics. One way or another, he would know the truth by dawn.

Darkness. All was darkness to Optimus as he labored to clear his vents. All power was diverted to preventing a massive system crash. His left arm was barely attached at the shoulder, wrenched upward through the piles of concrete and rebar. The strain on the cables and joints was all that he could feel.

In the hazy, error-message-filled mess that was his processor, Optimus had the vague notion that he ought to have been in excruciating pain, yet he felt very little. _Is this what going offline is like? _he wondered.

He was very dimly aware of a voice somewhere above him, speaking words he did not understand. Who was it? Why was the voice so familiar? A distant, fragmented memory floated through his mind of being sent to work in the Archives for the first time.

He was bigger than the other younglings, and his frame was different. They assumed he was defective and avoided him. Alpha Trion stood beside him, as he had done since before he could remember.

"Be brave, Orion Pax," the strange old recorder had whispered, "For the sake of your peoples, you must be brave!"

Looking back, as his processor cleared somewhat, Optimus wondered if the ancient Prime had been referring to humanity when he'd said "peoples". Loss of energon began to take its toll and logical thought left him. He went into an emergency power-down state to conserve his remaining supply of energon. In a torrent of blackness the pain returned, and in the midst of the hurricane, Optimus dreamed.

He saw faces he knew he recognized, but could not name. There was power and fear combined in one, deep sorrow in the other. A rending sensation seized his spark, as if it were being torn from his frame, and he could not stop himself from crying out. Someone whispered, "Remember me," and vanished, leaving no name, no trace but an inexorable feeling of loneliness.

Slowly, systems began to power up as the sun rose, drinking in the warmth through tiny solar panels in the armor. It was not nearly enough to sustain Optimus; the damage was catastrophic. Without aid, his spark would flicker out in a matter of hours.

The voice was still there, babbling to something or someone. Then he was being lifted by many hands, and all went hazy again. He knew nothing but the void for an uncounted span of time. He did not know how long he was in stasis, but he felt something in his spark was urging him to awaken. When his processor finally cleared, he was staring up into a pair of familiar blood-red eyes. Something like a choked laugh sounded above him.

_"Found you."_


	3. Chapter 3

**The big reveal!**

**(I hope you guys don't mind that I'm putting this whole story up all at once?)**

* * *

Time had no meaning anymore.

Whether the sky outside was dark or light mattered little, for they rarely allowed him out to see. Six bare walls, three berths, and four cabinets of medical equipment. Six hundred and seventy-two bolts in the ceiling panels. Five paces from one wall to the other.

It was not so much the confinement that gnawed away at his processor and whispered in the corners of his thoughts like some wild thing. No, it was the uncertainty. Somewhere in the expanses of this organic world, his team - his _people_ \- were in exile, possibly being hunted. Rage and fear battled each other for control of his spark, for he knew that he was powerless to aid them. Optimus sighed: a short, sharp sound.

This was not, of course, the first time he'd ever been captured by Decepticons. In fact, he distinctly remembered an incident close to the time of the Cybertronian Exodus when he'd found himself chained to the deck of the _Nemesis_, forced to watch the destruction of the city he had once taken refuge in.

He could take imprisonment, interrogation, torture. The idea of his team or the human children facing any of the same made his energon run cold. Not that he'd actually been interrogated or tortured since awakening in the med bay; there was something _very_ off about Megatron's behavior.

The warmonger had been to see him a few times each week, but each encounter was more confusing than the last. The first time, when Optimus had first regained consciousness, Megatron had hovered over him with something that could only be described as concern lighting his optics. He'd asked so many strange questions...where he'd grown up, how far back his memory banks went, who had raised him.

The second time he hadn't spoken at all. Megatron had merely stood beside the berth stoically while Optimus had demanded to know where he was and what was going on. He did not even answer when the Prime brought up his centuries of murder and conquest. He only watched.

Every time he came, something seemed to tug at Optimus's spark. At first it was just a whisper, like a half-forgotten thought nagging at the back of his processor, gone before he could identify it. In time, the whisper became a murmur that washed over his spark in relentless waves. Sometimes the waves brought snatches of thoughts and feelings that were not his own, and this frightened him. Optimus began to dread Megatron's visits. The fourth time he'd come, Optimus had finally lost his temper.

"Why are you keeping me alive, Megatron?" he'd snarled, "You've scattered my people to the winds and dragged humanity into your quest for power. I would have guessed that you would have hung my helm on a pike to demoralize my allies. You have, after all, demonstrated time and again that there is little you will not do to settle old scores."

Megatron did not answer him, his faceplate carefully locked in a neutral expression. Still, the tendrils of awareness beginning to stretch out from Optimus's spark caught many differing and mingled emotions. Anger: both at himself and at Optimus, fear, pity, and overwhelming pain.

It was an anguish Optimus knew all too well: a suffering brought on by the realization that all one's efforts had been for naught. It was the same hopelessness he'd felt when he had destroyed the Omega Lock.

For a moment, it seemed that Megatron would speak. The confused emotions grew stronger and stronger until Optimus could have sworn it was his _own_ anger, his _own_ pain, his own _fear_ of...fear of what? What could _Megatron_ possibly fear?

The archivist in him demanded answers, despite his trepidation regarding the phenomenon. Uncertain as to how he might extend or strengthen the link between his spark and whatever was allowing him to sense Megatron's feelings, he opted for a more direct approach.

"Why are you afraid?" he demanded quietly. Shock blossomed into wonder across the Decepticon's features.

"The bond is intact!" he breathed, "After all this time?"

Optimus frowned and, not for the first time, wished they hadn't disabled his weapons. "What are you _talking _about?" he demanded.

As he had done before, Megatron gave no more reply than, "Rest, Orion. Regain your strength. In time, we will speak again."

This time, however, Optimus overheard him telling the guards outside to allow him to walk the halls of Darkmount if he wished. And he had _smiled_ at the Autobot before leaving—a genuine smile, not cruel or sardonic. Something was very wrong here, but Megatron didn't seem like he was going to volunteer answers anytime soon.

The days turned cold and dark—he knew this because Knock Out constantly complained about frost on his paint job. He hadn't thought that a place like Jasper could reach temperatures that low. In his recorded memory it had certainly never been that cold, so he assumed that Knock Out was exaggerating. The young medic did little else but exaggerate and complain to what he deemed to be a captive audience.

The red Decepticon stormed into the medical ward, blustering about something again, but Optimus ignored him. Knock Out stopped and stared at the "prisoner".

"You... re-organized my supplies?" he asked, astonished. The larger mech nodded brusquely as he brushed past the smaller.

"If _that _is the customary state of your inventory, the standard of medical care among Decepticons no longer surprises me," he stated flatly as he left the room. The guards twitched as he passed, but did not stop him.

One had tried, some weeks ago, but Soundwave had dragged the unfortunate away on Megatron's orders. The Prime shook his helm as he paced the gloomy corridors. If he didn't know better, he might've called the behavior protective. But that wasn't in keeping with what he knew of Megatron.

A few centuries ago, he would have resented the preferential treatment for making it seem like he was little more than some favored pet or slave. Now he merely ignored his captors and focused his attentions on keeping the Autobots safe in whatever way he could - be that by distracting Soundwave when he was trying to scan for Autobots, or by secretly downloading any information Soundwave _did _scan.

Not, of course, that he ignored Megatron. That did not strike him as a particularly wise thing to do. He stepped into a lift and let it take him up a few levels. The strange, knowing feeling in his spark told him that Megatron was not on the upper viewing platform, making it an ideal place to go and think. And he had need of a place to think of late.

Optimus was too much of an archivist and too experienced a warrior to miss the hints—some subtle and some _quite _broad—that the warlord had been giving him as to the reason he was not being treated as a prisoner of war. The conclusion his processor continued to point towards disturbed and unnerved him.

Flat servos absently brushed over his spark chamber as Optimus stepped out of the lift and moved somewhat hurriedly past the door he knew led to Megatron's chambers. He was in no mood to speak with his one-time brother. _Only he's not your brother, is he? _his treacherous thoughts whispered, _He's your- _

He cut the words off in his processor. No. That was impossible, no matter what evidence was beginning to stack up. _But don't you want to know the truth? _the voice of his spark spoke, gentle and wheedling.

It was true that he had many questions regarding his less-than-standard younglinghood. The trouble was that he did not believe Megatron would tell him the truth! Caught between dread and curiosity, Optimus hesitated in the hall, spark pulsing as though it were struggling to leave his frame. How was it possible to want to know something and to _not_ want to know at the same time?

It was only his centuries of experience as a Prime that kept him from jolting when the hand touched his shoulder guard.

"You were staring at my door as though you could melt it with your gaze." Megatron spoke calmly from behind him, but there was a nervous tension beneath the words. "Am I to assume you wanted to speak with me? Or were you just wishing me dead?"

Optimus Prime turned slowly to face the older warrior, clearly uncomfortable with his close proximity. "I was not aware that I was staring," he answered coolly.

_Ask him! _his spark seemed to hiss. He did his best to ignore it, but four months of unanswered questions were beginning to weigh on his mind. Just as he was preparing to open his mouth, Megatron held up a hand.

"This is not a good place to talk, young Pax. Come." He turned away and strode towards the passage to the very top of Darkmount. He paused at the doors and cast a glance back at the Autobot. An urgency that was not his own flooded Optimus's awareness and pushed him to follow the Decepticon, albeit reluctantly.

The spartan throne at the edge of the platform was utterly ignored as Optimus took in the sunlight for the first time in several months. He tipped his helm back to face the sky and drank in the pale warmth of a winter sun, even cycling atmosphere through his central intakes like a human would. Megatron watched him with something undefinable and bittersweet in his optics as the younger warrior flared out his armor plating and retracted it again several times, akin to stretching, then walked to the edge of the tower.

Leaning out over the edge with a hand upon the pillars, the Prime looked out across the land below. "Jasper still stands!" he murmured, astonished. "You did not destroy it?"

The ex-gladiator answered with a swift, decisive shake of his helm. "The war is _over_, Orion. I have no need to quarrel with the humans. Not-" he paused and seemed almost to swallow hard. "Not even _your _humans. I am prepared to let them go free. Even the Matrix-bearer."

Optimus met his optics and frowned. This did not sound like the Megatron he knew: something else was going on. Unable to pin it down to just _one _thing that made him uneasy, he settled for the first thing that came to mind.

"Since I was captured, you have continuously referred to me as Orion. That is not the designation I use."

"No," Megatron agreed, "But it _is _the one Pax Domina gave you, of this I am certain."

Crimson armor rippled and clamped tightly to Optimus's frame. Again he brought up Pax Domina! What did a Senator killed in a riot when he was a child have to do with anything?

Megatron smiled weakly—an unsettling sight in and of itself—and motioned to him.

"What did you wish to ask me, Orion?"

Unsure of how to respond, the Prime locked his servos behind his back and stared.

"For the duration of my captivity, you have made insinuations regarding the nature of our..._relationship_." he began stiffly, awkwardly. "While I see no possible way that your implied claims could be, I am admittedly curious as to why you would reveal your suspicions to me. After some several centuries of attempting to extinguish my spark, you have indeed chosen a very strange time to change your mind."

A rather bitter laugh wrenched itself from Megatron's lips and he shifted his optics away. "It was easier to explain when you were unconscious." he said dryly.

"You are afraid to say it," Optimus accused him.

"And you are afraid to hear it." Megatron returned.

"Yes," his captive answered softly, "I am afraid. I had come to believe that there was nothing that could make the War and our falling-out more tragic than it always was. Yet I know that I can neither return to ignorance nor continue on in doubt."

Blue optics narrowed as the red warrior moved silently to stare the other in the eyes. Casually, the silver mech straightened his shoulders and tipped his helm back, soaking in the rays of the sun just as Optimus had done.

"And what of my answer? Be it yes or no, will you go on hating me as before?"

Something unreadable flashed over Optimus's faceplate for a moment, and a confused hurt swirled across both sparks.

"I never hated you, Megatron," he protested, "I only grieved."

Megatron appeared ready to answer at last, but paused for a moment to answer a private comm. Harshly, he told the caller that he was busy, and not to be disturbed. In rapid succession, he fired off several rounds of orders—including sending Knock Out and a small reconnaissance team to Cybertron—intended to keep his soldiers occupied. Then he let his hand fall from his helm and looked down at Optimus with a guarded expression.

"Prime that you are, this will perhaps jar your sense of duty and destinies rather badly," he remarked. There was the barest touch of sarcasm in the rough voice as he flared and clenched his servos at his sides. Though he never admitted any such thing, he dreaded the words he would have to speak as much as Optimus dreaded hearing them.

Optimus stilled his systems, silently repeating to himself the names of his soldiers, friends and allies. He had yet a reason to fight; no matter what answer the Decepticon leader gave, it would not shake his convictions. He stood a little straighter and his voice was deep and grave. "Regardless of consequences," he declared, "I would have you tell me the truth."

With a heavy sigh, Megatron bowed his helm and prepared to release the secret so recently discovered: his very reason for fighting.

"So be it," he rasped, "My son."

With those two words, Optimus Prime's fears were confirmed, and the escape became much more difficult


	4. Chapter 4

**Nothing much to say here, except that I own only my ideas.**

**Transformers and all character and place names are property of Hasbro.**

**And the "Cybertronian" language I used in this chapter comes from the website "Cybertronian Language Academy".**

* * *

"Why?"

It was a question simple enough for a child to ask and complex enough to silence even the most persuasive orator. Within that one word lay centuries of sorrow and anger, of betrayal and endless questions.

"_Why_?" Optimus repeated, a little louder this time.

Words failed Megatron, now when he needed them most. He who had faced thousands in battle, who had single-handedly begun a war for no other reason than to enact vengeance upon Sentinel Prime, he who had a hand in the silencing of Unicron found that he could not bear to look into the eyes of his son. The pain in their depths and the guilt that lay heavy on his own shoulders wrapped like chains about his spark and stilled his tongue. Wordlessly, he reached out for the younger mech to—to do what? To comfort? To be comforted?

Every instinct within the Autobot told him to shrink back, to avoid the warlord's touch as though it were poison. Every sensor on the surface of his armor was hyper-alert and nearly vibrating with a deep unease as he forced himself to remain still. He wondered if this was what the humans referred to as the sensation of crawling skin.

Long, tapered servos came to brush awkwardly but gently against the side of his helm and his spark twinged painfully in a mixture of an old bitterness and something else, wholly unexpected. For lack of better word, it was something akin to joy, a sensation that some piece of himself that had long been missing had been returned to its place at last.

In contradicting cycles, his spirit both rejoiced over the strengthening of a bond long forgotten and shuddered with the knowledge that the nature of the War had changed forever.

Once more, the Prime met the Decepticon's optics and repeated his spark-breaking question.

"_Why_?"

Megatron shuttered his optics, trying to shut out the voice in his processor that painfully reminded him of every instance in which he'd injured or attempted to snuff out the bright spark before him. "Why did I leave you as a sparkling? My memories are... I am not certain of what happened exactly, only that you were taken from my arms and I was sent to the arena. Why..."

He faltered, unable to go on. Optimus did not seem as though he accepted the answer, but neither did he pull away.

"Considering our respective positions, it would have been to your advantage to reveal this information earlier in the war. I cannot help but ask why you chose not to."

There. It was as close as the grave and tempered warrior would ever come to speaking the sudden, desperate question that cried out from his soul with the voice of a sparkling, _Did you know? And yet you wished me dead?_

"When you were taken from me," Megatron spoke slowly, his tone raspy and uneven. "I suspect that my memories were tampered with, for I was never able to recall the name I knew I had chosen for my son—for _you_. I would not have known you by your caste, for who could expect the child of a senator and a gladiator to be an archivist?"

Emotions roiled in a turbid flow in the mighty spark, strong enough to be clearly felt by the young Prime. Self-recrimination, regret, confusion, even a growing measure of affection reverberated through the atmosphere about the two Cybertronians. There could be no question that Megatron spoke the truth. That the proud mech had yet to meet Optimus's optics suggested a shame that overwhelmed him, wide enough perhaps to cover an entire war.

"The fates have always been against me," Megatron smiled bitterly. "What sort of cruel playwright reveals too late that the one I have tried to destroy for so long is the very one I began the war to save?"

The silence stretched out between them, and Optimus turned his gaze out over Jasper. Rows of quiet little houses lay undisturbed, empty reminders of a people who could have suffered far worse but for the intervention of this shattering realization.

"Perhaps," Optimus said slowly, gravely, "the playwright acted not in cruelty, but in mercy. Had you not begun the war, the Autobots would not have forged such deep bonds with the humans, and there might have been greater casualties."

At this, the warlord turned away and moved to stand on the lift. He motioned the other to join him and, after a moment's hesitation, Optimus did so.

The platform hummed as it lowered them back into the bowels of Darkmount, and Megatron began to walk. Optimus easily kept pace with the slow, measured gait and found that somehow the silence was not quite as oppressive as it had been before.

"I _do_ regret using your humans against you," the Decepticon said suddenly. "It was an act of desperation on my part, but no less inexcusable. Sparklings are not bargaining chips." There was no irony in his apology, nor any of the glib liar who had taken Cybertron by storm.

"...Thank you." Optimus answered quietly. As they walked, by chance they came to an open door where Starscream stood, watching. As Optimus passed him, such a look of hatred crossed his faceplate as would seem to wrench his small frame in two.

By the time Megatron's helm had rotated to catch whatever Optimus was staring at, the SIC had diluted the scorn into little more than confusion and bemusement.

"My lord," he said humbly, "Is it _wise_ to allow the Autobot such freedom within our walls? Shouldn't he be in the brig, at least?"

Megatron frowned. "The war is _over_, Starscream. We are not savages: as the victors, we will treat our worthy opponent with respect." He continued walking, effectively cutting off the Seeker's protests and giving Optimus little choice but to follow.

"What makes you so certain that the war is over, Megatron?" he asked calmly, ignoring the startled looks being cast in his direction. "The capture of one political leader does not preclude further resistance. Might I remind you that however few in numbers we Autobots may be on _this_ planet, we are _not_ the only ones in this universe."

The warlord smirked at the younger warrior's tone: carefully diplomatic and blatantly defiant all at once without ever raising his voice. Megatron was never one to back down from a challenge.

"Indeed?" he answered blithely, "I think you underestimate your importance to them, Orion. We shall see how they fare without their Prime. I assume you did not pass the Matrix to your human _friend_ again, making it doubtful at best that they would have any sort of symbol to rally behind."

If the tone in which he mentioned of the honorary Prime made any impression at all, Optimus did not show it. "The existence of a Prime is not necessary for my people to survive," he replied, face set forward and helm held high.

"_Our_ people."

He glanced to the side questioningly.

"_Our_ people," Megatron repeated firmly, "Cybertronians, not Autobots, not Decepticons."

This was what Optimus had wanted for so long: an end to the race for extinction masquerading as civil war. Megatron seemed to be hinting at a mutual peace, rather than an arrangement of conqueror and conquered—he had already expressed remorse for his actions, and yet…

"Somehow I doubt that your Decepticons will see things in quite the same way. At best, you speak of Cold War, not peace. Factions that will not attack each other for fear of mutually assured destruction and loss of human life."

They stopped at the medical wing for a moment, and Megatron bowed his scarred helm. "Even that is preferable to open combat in my eyes. I grow weary of endless war—don't look at me like that, I speak the truth!"

The skeptical expression in the Prime's optics softened slightly and he sighed. "I wish that I could trust you, Megatron."

The silver titan did not answer at first but then, almost too quietly to be heard, "I wish that as well."

Without preamble, the Decepticon tyrant opened the doors of the med bay and tersely ordered Knock Out's assistant to transfer all of Optimus Prime's medical data to his personal files. Optimus raised one metal brow, but said nothing. By all appearances, it looked as though he were being moved from the tiny ward, and he had a vague suspicion as to where he might end up. When their footsteps led them back to Megatron's chambers, he knew he'd been correct.

"You're going to make it very difficult for me to leave this place, aren't you?" he remarked with a touch of irritation. Megatron's tone was stern as he glared at the younger mech.

"Centuries not knowing if you were alive or dead, centuries of nearly killing you by mistake. Did you really imagine that I would allow you to leave my side?"

For all that Megatron was attempting to make amends on some level, there were certain things he would not compromise on. Contacting the humans was one: Soundwave followed the Decepticons' "guest" like a second shadow, monitoring his communications to ensure that no wayward message made its way to unfriendly audial receptors. With little else to do, Optimus spent the next two weeks quietly walking the halls and observing life among the Decepticons.

Often, Megatron would leave off whatever he was attending to and walk with him, just for the company. He asked many questions about Optimus's younglinghood, sometimes requesting tales of times when a young Orion Pax had gotten into trouble or impressed his comrades. On occasion, he would let slip something of his own past, but for the most part he was carefully silent about anything regarding his time as a slave.

There came a day when Knock Out's away team sent a communique back to their leader: they had found something on Cybertron. Or rather, someone.

"Orion, do not go to the upper platform today," Megatron stood in the doorway impassively. "Someone is returning that I'd prefer you did not meet."

Without another word he turned and strode away to the lift, leaving a very curious Prime behind him. Still, Optimus knew that to directly disobey Megatron probably wouldn't end well, strengthened bond or not, so he resolved to explore the lower levels of the citadel and avoid the higher. On his way, he passed Starscream in the corridor.

It was almost amusing how the smaller mech seemed to think he could intimidate the Prime simply by dint of being a "victorious Decepticon". Optimus placidly ignored the rocket tip brushing the base of his helm and regarded the SIC with an expression of cool indifference.

"I don't know what Lord Megatron hopes to accomplish by keeping you here," Starscream snarled, "But I do not trust you! _One _twitch, that's all it takes._One _bad feeling, one _sensor _on the tip of my wing stands up, and that's it. No more Optimus, no more Orion. You'll be gone."**(A/n: couldn't help throwing a Sam Gamgee line in there)**

Unimpressed by the threats, the red and blue Autobot brushed the Seeker aside and continued down through the labyrinthine fortress. At last, he stopped outside a smaller door, lit from behind with a sickly greenish light.

"I have no memory of this door," he murmured. Behind him, Soundwave jolted and tugged at his arm, attempting to gently redirect him. If anything, this only strengthened his resolve to see what was behind the thick metal slab.

"If your master wishes there to be peace between us," he reasoned, taking a page from Miko's book, "Then he should not keep secrets. Did he ever state that I was _not _to come here?" Reluctantly, the spy shook his helm. Satisfied with the answer, Optimus stepped to the security lock and hacked it with a speed that almost impressed Soundwave. The silent mech shivered miserably, knowing that the relative peace of the last several months was about to be shaken somewhat.

Wheeljack hung from class IV stasis cuffs in the center of the room, helm dipped low enough to rest against his chestplates. At Optimus's startled cry, the Wrecker slowly raised his head, a dribble of energon staining the corner of his mouth. Long gashes across his torso oozed sluggishly, several months old, but the majority of his wounds appeared to be crash-related damage.

"H-hey, boss," the green and white mech coughed, staining his chestplate with droplets of darkened, congealed blue, "They got you too?"

Wordlessly, Optimus traced the scars with one hand and shook his helm. "Starscream?" he asked darkly.

Clouded optics shuttered and unshuttered slowly. "Yeah, probably. Mem'ry's a li'l fuzzy right now, t'be honest."

The Decepticons had brought him to the fortress directly after the destruction of the Autobot base. He remembered being tortured for information, both with the energon prod and lacerating claws common to Starscream, and a cortical psychic patch used by someone else. They hadn't been gentle to say the least in disconnecting the patch.

Not two days later, there had been some sort of to-do upstairs, some important 'Con brought back wounded or something, and Wheeljack had been utterly forgotten. Four and a half months he'd hung there, energon slowly draining from his systems as his shoulder joints began to separate filament by fiber.

"Release him!" The voice of his commanding officer brought Wheeljack back to the present.

Soundwave shook his helm rapidly, displaying across that eerie visor of his multiple vids of collateral damage wrought by the Autobot prisoner, then pointed one sharp servo at him accusingly.

"Yer serious?" Wheeljack rasped, "Yer keepin' me here 'cause ya think I'm a lia—a lia—_scrap_. A risk?"

Soundwave nodded and crossed his arms, apparently immovable. Optimus narrowed his optics and faced the faceless mech down.

"Release him," he rumbled, "_Now_."

The communications master threw up his servos to the ceiling in an exasperated gesture, but against his better judgment he shut down the stasis field, dropping the Wrecker to the deck with a clatter. Then he sent a quick series of glyphs to his commander, warning him of the situation and stepped back into the shadows. It wasn't going to be pretty, and he had no desire to get caught between an angry Megatron and his equally strong-willed son.

Hurriedly, Optimus transferred a data file to the soldier, showing him the quickest way out of Darkmount. "Stay out of sight, Wheeljack, and do _not_ engage the Decepticons if you can help it. The more hostilities we can avoid, the better."

The smaller Autobot frowned swaying slightly on his pedes. "Yer coming too, right?" he slurred.

"No, Wheeljack. My presence would jeopardize your escape. Find the others and tell them to await further orders. _Do not attack_."

In the shadows, Soundwave relaxed slightly, even as Wheeljack saluted and darted out of the chamber. That Prime was seeking to avoid violence might work to ameliorate the situation somewhat. It was not long before Megatron, Starscream, and one Soundwave had hoped never to see again entered the cell to find Optimus standing tall and utterly unrepentant.

A mixture of disbelief and outrage tightened the tyrant's faceplates, partially due to the fact that he had completely forgotten that the Autobot Wheeljack had even been down there. Not, of course, that he would willingly admit that to anyone.

He glowered down at the resolute Prime and willed himself to calm down. It was to be expected, he told himself, the young one did honorably by his comrades. _But not by me! _his processor protested. His spark quietly whispered, _But you have not earned that honor._

He pushed both voices away and attempted to focus on the matter at hand. "What have you done?" Megatron reproached him.

Optimus did not give an inch. "If the war is truly over, as you say, then why was one of my people your prisoner?" he demanded. The elder warrior stormed up to the younger, looming ominously over the Prime.

"He has repeatedly shown little to no regard for the safety of Cybertronians and humans alike! That is one who would instigate new hostilities without a second thought. By releasing the Wrecker, you have placed this citadel and all those near it at risk! What gave you the right to do this?"

Optimus's tone grew icy cold as he answered, "The revelation of our particular relationship does not and will not keep me from attending to my responsibilities as Prime."

Talons clenched and unclenched at the ends of tensed arms as Megatron barely restrained his frustration. "Stubbornness!" he growled.

Blue optics narrowed. "No doubt an inherited trait," Optimus hissed.

For two seconds the warlord was speechless. So _that's_ how it was going to be. Well, two could play at that game.

"I would caution you to be mindful of your situation, _my son,_" he threatened.

Then he turned swiftly and marched from the room, snapping at Soundwave as he left, "Keep him out of my sight for the next hour!"

Starscream gaped, trying to wrap his processor around what had just happened. Why would Lord Megatron call the Autobot...suddenly the lack of security and the preferential treatment began to make sense. And Starscream hated Optimus Prime with every fibre of his being. Shockwave did not comment on the exchange, he only observed and filed away the information for further use. Perhaps this runaway Wrecker would serve as an adequate field test for his primary experiment, his crowning achievement.

Sensing impending bodily harm to _someone_, Soundwave opened a Bridge within the cell and forced Optimus through. Of all the stubborn, proud, relentless families he could have served, he'd _had _to choose _this _one! Soundwave was beginning to doubt his own sanity.

The Autobot found himself on the highest platform of Darkmount once more, and leaned moodily against the iron throne. This surprised him somewhat: a warrior of his experience, acting like a recalcitrant youngling? Why did he feel the sting of betrayal burying itself in his spark? He turned at the sound of a low, rumbling growl, and nearly stalled in shock.

A Predacon.

A living, moving, Predacon of such proportions as had likely not been seen since the days before the Cataclysm of Cybertron. It was surrounded by Vehicons with leads and energon prods, trying to back it into the waiting _Nemesis_. One of them noticed the Prime and made an urgent shooing motion.

"Prime! Stay back, this thing is half-mad!"

The dragon jerked its head away, dragging Eradicons across the deck with cries of dismay.

"Easy, easy," Optimus began to move forward without really knowing why. He took the cable from the drones and slowly pulled the mighty creature's helm back down towards him.

"_Vahray, vahray Zheeroh Pridak'n,_" he crooned gently. The Decepticons stumbled back in wonder as the Predacon gradually began to calm itself and turned fiery, unblinking optics upon the smaller being that spoke so softly to it.

"_Vtz Pridak'n vahray v'tzreetz'tay? Vahray Daipridak'n, aahroh?_"

With a low huff, the dragon rested its lower mandible atop the cobalt helm in a gesture of acceptance. Optimus smiled for the first time that day.

"You like that name, do you?" he asked in English, running a hand over the long, steely folds of the creature's neck. "Very well. Predaking it shall be!"

In awe, one of the eldest Vehicons, a veteran of the War, shook his helm and smiled beneath his mask, not even surprised to see Soundwave watching from beside him. "Now that is a sight I've never seen before," the old soldier remarked. "Have you ever seen such a thing?"

Soundwave mutely indicated that he had not, and a harsh voice rang out behind them suddenly, ordering the drones to return to the _Nemesis _immediately. Glad to be away from the Predacon, they quickly obeyed. The platform cleared, leaving only three mechs and one dragon. When the voice spoke again, it was no longer angry, but wistful.

"You remind me of the stories of Gloricam Spiritus, who won the friendship of beasts, and they protected her in battle."

Soundwave silently took his leave, knowing that privacy was desired in this moment.

Optimus did not remove his hand from the beast's neck as he answered quietly, almost reluctantly, "I have...never heard the stories of Spiritus."

Megatron shrugged as he came to stand beside him. "You would not have. It was a legend passed down among the slaves. She was a kind of a trope...a coping mechanism. An imagined hero to bring justice upon those who oppressed us, I suppose."

He gazed up at the dragon contemplatively, then, with a touch of humor coloring his rough voice, "Shall we discuss the Predacon in the room?" Beside him, his son cracked a smile at the faint joke and nodded.

"Wheeljack is under orders to instigate no violence," he said at length, "Why was he in that cell if you desired peace?"

Megatron sighed quietly. "Because I did not desire peace until I found _you,_ half buried beneath the wreckage of your base. The Wrecker was brought to the citadel before that." For a moment he struggle with whether or not to admit anything else, but his spark—pleading for _some _kind of reconciliation—won out over his pride.

"I'd forgotten he was there at all," he grudgingly admitted.

Some of the tension seemed to melt from Optimus's shoulders, and he nodded again. "That, I can understand happening, though I do not condone it."

The vast Predacon before them grew tired of standing and crouched on the open deck, curling around itself to lay its helm atop the end of its tail in a mild powerdown mode. Megatron and Optimus stood within a small circle made by the dragon's body as it slept.

Quite unexpectedly, the younger of the two asked, "What was she like?"

Megatron did not need to ask who "she" was. He laid a hand against the back of Optimus's helm, and something that may have once been a smile crossed his tired faceplates.

"She was very like you. Compassion, reason, those were her weapons, yet she fought Sentinel's guards like Solus Prime herself to protect you when they came for us." He gritted his denta, hating the memories, yet needing to share them. "She stood in front of our hab suite and called down curses on the usurper Prime for what he had done to his own world. She was a force to be reckoned with."

Optimus considered the information quietly, and bowed his helm. "Then I regret that I was never able to meet her."

Both found themselves lost in their own thoughts for a time. Optimus wondered to himself what he and the Autobots might be forced to do to secure lasting peace, and Megatron began to worry that the presence of Shockwave on Earth would do more harm than good.

The mech was nefarious for his unethical experimentation. It was only a matter of time before he turned his eye onto the world of men. Such madness needed to be contained, and he needed Optimus on his side if he ever hoped to bring about any kind of lasting accord.

"Optimus," he said gravely, "There must be an understanding between you and I. Do you _want _peace between us?"

The Prime neither flinched nor hesitated as he answered calmly, "Yes I do, Father."


	5. Chapter 5

**Well, here it is, the last chapter of the story arc. I suppose it could be extended one day, but I almost feel that it would be more fun to let the readers imagine everything that came after and everything that came between :)**

* * *

Life in the shadow of Darkmount could not be said to be easy in the strictest sense of the word.

Most of the citizens of Jasper remained in shanty towns all across the state, having lost everything and attempting to start afresh. The humans that _did_ choose to return to their homes lived under surveillance to ensure that they did not violate the terms of non-disclosure and thus expose their extraterrestrial "neighbors" to the rest of the world. Not all of those neighbors were friendly, but as very few of them actually used the roads, the inhabitants of Jasper were able to avoid them for the most part. And so they coped, carefully answering the unusual and occasionally inane questions the giant robots would ask.

Still, it wasn't all bad. One of the titans—they gathered that he was the son of the alien leader...they hadn't even known that alien robots _had _fathers or sons—often walked the edge of the desert with several of his companions and spoke very kindly to the children that crowded the streets, hoping to catch a glimpse of the aliens. Three of the children seemed particularly close to them, and were in and out of Darkmount at all hours of the day and night.

This particular evening found Jack Darby, Miko Nakadai, and Raf Esquivel perched on and between their Autobot guardians, in what had become a weekend tradition: listening to the gentle accents of a Predacon's story.

"And so Prima raised his blade against my ancestors, unable to retreat," Predaking held both the young humans _and _their larger counterparts in rapt attention, "Determined that he should win a vow of peace or else die in the attempt. He walked by the light of the Star Saber into the canyon and-" he broke off and raised his helm slightly.

"And if Orion ibn Megatronus takes _one _more step, he will learn why it is said, _Do not rouse the Predacon to anger, for you will remember the struggle and never do it again!" _

Optimus laughed and stepped out of the shadow of Predaking's wings. "But it is also said that _good sense makes one slow to anger, and it is his glory to overlook an offense!" _He smiled brightly and sat down beside the Predacon.

"You mistake me for a sensible mech, brother!" the larger being snorted.

Jack smiled up at the Prime. "How are the peace talks going, Optimus?"

It would take the humans a long time to trust them, especially after a centuries-long war had ended in a matter of months. There would probably always be an underlying distrust between humans and Decepticons, perhaps even more than between Autobots and Decepticons. Forgiveness would come one day, perhaps, but it would be a long road.

Optimus reached down and lifted the boy onto his shoulder and smiled a little softer. "I would like to believe that we have made some progress. Ultra Magnus is taking the whole affair rather hard, but he is beginning to understand."

Arcee nodded. "I'll be honest, Optimus. I'm not sure _I've _completely accepted it all either."

Miko grumbled something about Star Wars and leaned back against Bulkhead's pede, but she was hiding a smile behind her eyes.

Rafael had been the first one to accept the familial link between Optimus and Megatron, but it had taken the other two several weeks to adapt to the idea. The Autobots were _still _dealing with the implications.

The Prime nodded. "Megatron is resolved that he must reconcile with humanity before he addresses the Autobot/Decepticon schism. He has left such manners in my hands."

It was true: the former warlord had come to the conclusion that while the Cybertronian race had time to work out their differences, the trust of humans was hard-won and once lost, irrecoverable. Bumblebee scooted closer to his mentor with an earnest look, nearly dislodging Raf from his knee.

/_And Megatron? He and the Commander haven't gotten into any more fights?_/

Optimus shook his helm reassuringly at his young friend.

"No, Bumblebee, I believe their attention is more focused on the troubling matter of Shockwave's disappearance."

As if in answer to the statement, the doors behind them hissed open and the hulking silhouette of Megatron glared out at them.

"_Speak of the devil!_" Jack whispered teasingly.

Megatron stepped out into the sunlight and quirked an eyebrow briefly at the boy before turning to his son. "Optimus, your Wreckers have located an unusual energy trail."

Predaking rotated in his place to look at the Decepticon. "My old jailer?" he growled, armor flaring at the thought of the scientist.

"No, my friend, but something perhaps more disturbing." He leveled a crimson stare at the Autobots. "A residual trace echoing a being known as Cylas."

Arcee groaned and dropped her faceplate to her knees. He had escaped Knock Out's lab during a terrible storm, corrupted beyond recognition, and had killed and subsequently reanimated twelve Vehicons and Airachnid on his way out before they all disappeared somewhere around Bermuda.

"_Why _won't he _die_?!" the femme complained.

"Well, I mean, you haven't tried killing him with _fire _yet." Miko piped up. Both Bulkhead and Predaking brightened immeasurably at this suggestion.

Carefully, Optimus moved Jack from his shoulder and, in a moment of playfulness, set him down on Predaking's head. Then he stood and folded his arms.

"I take it you wish us to look into the matter?"

Megatron shrugged apologetically. "I cannot spare my own soldiers, they're still dealing with the cleanup from that Sector Seven debacle. If it would not too much endanger your people?" Optimus shot the Auotbots a meaningful look. They nodded back.

"If you do not mind the children being here, Father?"

Again, Megatron shrugged. "They can do as they like," he said, affecting a careless tone.

Miko's eyes lit up at the veiled permission. Megatron knew all too well what the trio would ask to do once the "adults" had left. It was no secret amongst the Decepticons that he practically let them have the run of the place when Optimus and Ratchet weren't there to raise concerns about safety or etiquette.

Megatron liked to pretend that it was his way of making up for using them as bait, but Optimus knew—even if he never let on that he did—Megatron simply found it amusing to spoil the three and send the Autobot medic into conniption fits. And Allspark knew there was something gratifying about seeing Ultra Magnus have to fight to keep his voice down when Megatron happened to be carrying the smallest human on his shoulder. It was far too entertaining to get to scold the Autobot commander for "frightening the children", given his own history with the three.

Predaking's helm dropped slightly, and a laughing Jack slid off and into his clawed hand. Megatron gave him a pointed look that warned "no contusions this time", and left them on the outer platform. The huge beast had a feeling that his wings were going to be quite sore before the Autobots returned.

End.


End file.
